That was the week that was

A very hectic last week which is why no postings for a while. And a complaint that this blog is too much about Cardiff City. As if that were possible. The thing about personal blogs is that unless you are an 18 year old depressed girl in your student bedroom you realise quite quickly that it's not always too wise to reveal too much publicly, Therefore very little about my personal life, and lots about Cardiff City. And a bit about Fred Pratt. Anyway at the end of last week, after a couple of very time consuming, expensive and irritating days doing things I don't want to talk about on here, on Thursday we went back to Ganges (which was nice), flying to Montpelier. The journey was blighted by incompetence at Stansted, but all fine once we were on our way. The weather as we arrived was such a contrast to here: 21 degrees and bright sunshine. The drive from Montpelier is easy and quick and beautiful. Views of the Cevennes and Pic St Loup as you whiz down good but quiet roads. A lovely welcome in Ganges where straight away we meet people we've met before. (Getting hooted at in the street in the process as we blocked traffic to say hello - gosh I felt French driving so inconsiderately).

Friday we went down to the river beach at Laroque, said hello a couple of times to the house, said hello to our bank, and generally had a nice time.

Saturday was Armistice day and a public holiday in France. From the comfort of our seats in the bar (outside, plenty warm enough) we watched the mini parade from the church to the town hall (About a two minute walk normally, but the slow march done by the local dignatories stretched it to nearly three). Where the mayor and some other dignitaries hung around a while doing I don't know what. A big man with a yellow jacket arrived carrying a banner. And that was it. "Vive la France" shouted one parent from the playground by the Bar de la Poste. It was clear he was being ironic.

There was much fuss on the news about shops opening on a public holiday. We went up to La Vigan where there was a lively market. We bought some pretty stones, and I bought my dad a beret. I can say this even though it will be a surprise for him on Thursday when I see him, as he never looks at the internet. It's not that he thinks it's evil or anything (like Kinky Friedman asserts despite having his own website) it's more that he's never advanced beyond the typewriter - and mum doing his typing.

Later that night we watched a lovely sunset. Still warm enough to be sitting outside at the bar.

Sunday we headed home. This time via Nimes. Again a relatively easy, if slightly longer (an hour or so) drive to the airport, through pretty countryside (not as pretty as theMontpelierr journey) and no problem with car hire (and no extra charge) picking up at Montpelier and dropping off at Nimes. The only problem was the croque monsieur I ate at the airport which put me out of action for about 24 hours once we got home. There we go, no one really wants to read a blog about my bowel movements do they?

The good news on the way back was the victory over (spit) Burnley. Still top of the league, and McPhail not suspended. No more right back though with Chambers back to Watford and Gilbert out for a while injured. And no Alan Smith who Jones tried to sign on loan- I'm kind of glad he didn't want to come to City: I have strong memories of his last visit to Ninian Park, getting sent off for 'assaulting' Andy Legg. (Inverted commas inserted on advice from counsel).

One final point: Ganges rhymes with Manges. "Je mange a Ganges". Plenty.